


Waves

by Proctor



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proctor/pseuds/Proctor
Summary: “Ah, I do love the coast…” Jaskier sighed dreamily as he sat poised on a small stool behind the wooden bathtub with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, promptly and without warning dumping another bucket of bathwater on top of Geralt’s head while continuing to speak. “Fresh air, infinite horizon, sand in your unmentionables…” He reconsidered. “On second thought, maybe not that last one. I haven’t had this many grains in my trousers since I pleasured myself in a wheat barn.”“Information I did not want nor need,” Geralt remarked, lifting his tankard from the floor beside the bath and taking a casual swig of ale.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 49
Kudos: 321
Collections: Abby's Witcher Collection





	Waves

**Author's Note:**

> This is set at some point before ep. 5, but is loosely based on Jaskier's suggestion of going to the coast in ep. 6. I imagine they've probably been before.
> 
> So here it is.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)

“Ah, I do love the coast…” Jaskier sighed dreamily as he sat poised on a small stool behind the wooden bathtub with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, promptly and without warning dumping another bucket of bathwater on top of Geralt’s head while continuing to speak. “Fresh air, infinite horizon, sand in your unmentionables…” He reconsidered. “On second thought, maybe not that last one. I haven’t had this many grains in my trousers since I pleasured myself in a wheat barn.”

“Information I did not want nor need,” Geralt remarked, lifting his tankard from the floor beside the bath and taking a casual swig of ale, entirely familiar with the unnecessary details that Jaskier openly shared.

“But the _sea_ , Geralt,” Jaskier resumed with passion, “the _sea._ It _calls_ me.”

“Calls you what? An idiot? I don’t blame it.” Another deluge of water hit him, just missing his drink. He put it down to protect it, convinced that he was being assaulted on purpose.

…Which he was. Unquestionably. On account of his brass. “You know, you’re _more_ than welcome to wash off all this sticky monster bloodyourself.”

Geralt lifted his draped arms from the edge of the bath in an open-palmed gesture of feigned confusion. “And miss the engaging conversation?” he replied, the pitch of his deep, rumbling voice fluctuating slightly with sarcastic inflection and devilish enjoyment. “Never.”

“-Oh. Hang on. Turn your head, I think I missed a spot. Right _there…_ ” Jaskier dipped the cloth in the water and scrubbed vigorously at Geralt’s cheek. “…Strange. I just can’t seem to… -oh, wait, no. My mistake. It’s just your smug face. Nothing we can do about that.”

Geralt turned to him, silently took the cloth from his hand, and threw it at his head.

“Yes, yes. Very mature,” he chastised, picking the sodden rag from the floor and giving it a limp-wristed shake at arms length, wrinkling his nose at the dirt that now clung to it and uttering a small ‘bleuchh’ of disgust under his breath. When he looked down however, he saw that Geralt had tipped his head back and was watching him, lips curled up at the corners, clearly pleased with either his own infantile gesture or the squeamish reaction to it. With a supercilious lift of his chin he snubbed his gaze, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing him placated by a single smile - which, of course, he was.

For the most part, he liked to see him this way. As soon as they had reached the coastal village yesterday afternoon and the salty sea air filled their lungs, there had been a notable change in Geralt’s demeanour, a heaviness that seemed to lift from him. He could see it in his frame, the stiffness of his shoulders subsiding, his gestures more open and generous; he could see it in his manner, dourness giving way to playfulness, cool distance replaced with easy conversation; and he could see it in his smile, offered more freely and with genuine (if not slightly wicked) pleasure. _Perhaps this place provided the same contentment for Geralt as it did for him..._

“Are we skoffin hunting again tomorrow?” he asked, changing the subject, fully aware that it was indeed the plan, there were so many infested caves embedded in the cliff face that today’s kills completed only half the job at most, but he enquired anyway, thinking that the answer might include an indication of how long they intended to stay.

“ _We?_ What was your tally today?”

“I can’t go putting myself in mortal peril, Geralt. After all, _somebody_ has to be alive to tell thegory details of your horrific demise.”

“Hmph. Always a comfort to know you have my back, Jaskier… posthumously at least.”

“Of course,” he smiled cheerfully, obviously jesting, but glad to wipe the self-satisfied look from Geralt’s face and regain the upper hand in their repartee. “Besides, I’m a musician. What am I going to do? _Play_ them to death?”

Geralt tilted his head and arched an eyebrow thoughtfully. “It’s a possibility.”

“Oh, _very_ funny. _”_ And upon seeing Geralt’s smile return, dropped the grizzly-looking cloth in the bath, just for spite, then stood up and wiped his hands prissily on his lavender-coloured britches, gratified by the sight of Geralt rooting around in the water to fish it back out.

He strode over to his bed to retrieve a towel, but paused as he caught sight of an object on the bedside table. On closer inspection, he found that it was… a doll, one made of sticks with a stuffed sock as a head; it had long white horse hair, two yellow beaded eyes and was wrapped in black fabric: a tiny Geralt.

“My my. Who is _this_ dashing little fellow?” he asked, perking up.

Damn. Geralt hadn’t meant to leave that out. Not because he didn’t like it, he did, but because he knew Jaskier would make a fuss over it. Too late now though.

“The little girl we met on the way out of the village. The one who wanted your lute. She gave me it when we returned.”

“Well, look at _you, Mr. Popular_ ,” Jaskier grinned, further assessing the doll. “It’s the very image of you. Look, it even captures your patented expression of mild disgruntlement.”

Geralt turned his head, frowning peevishly at him.

“Yes! That’s the one.”

“Put it back, Jaskier.”

Jaskier replaced it and brought the towel instead, sitting back down and wringing the worst of the wet from Geralt’s hair then uncorking a bottle of rose oil and coating his fingers, combing them through the damp grey-white tendrils.

He liked it when people were kind to his Witcher (goodness knows they had met enough who weren’t), and despite Geralt’s reluctance to accept it, Jaskier believed him worthy of their affections. He was a good man - difficult at times _certainly_ , but good. In fact, this morning was a perfect example…

_*_

_As they trotted out of the village, a small child blocked their way, a girl no more than eight in a muddy dress, a doll with long pigtails clasped tightly to her chest._

_She looked at Geralt curiously, seemingly intrigued in particular by his swords rather than by his unique appearance._

_“Are you going to kill the monsters?” she asked._

_“I am.”_

_“I like your horse…” she said, patting Roach, bizarrely satisfied with Geralt’s brief answer and requiring no further elaboration. She then turned to Jaskier, “Is that a lute?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Can you play it?”_

_“No. I just carry it on my back as a conversation piece.” Geralt elbowed him in the ribs. “Ouch. Yes. I can play it.”_

_“Can I have it?”_

_Jaskier tossed his head back with a loud cackle.“Bwa ha ha. You most certainly_ **_**cannot** _ ** _.”_

 _The girl stared down sadly at the ground, her lip starting to tremble. Geralt turned and shot him a ‘look what you’ve done’ scowl to which he responded with an ‘it’s not_ **_**my** _ ** _fault’ look of offence, unwilling to take responsibility for the delicate sensibilities of a bratty youth. Geralt rolled his eyes and addressed the girl._

_“That doll must be very important to you.”_

_She nodded._

_“You would be sad if you no longer had it.”_

_She nodded again._

_“Well, my friend here would be sad if he no longer had his lute. He would cry. Continuously. Like a distressed babe wallowing in its own filth,” he added somewhat coarsely._

_“I don’t like it when people cry,” she pouted, either oblivious to or uncaring of Geralt’s visceral comparison._

_“You especially wouldn’t like it if_ **_**he** _ ** _cried. He is the ugliest crier I have ever known.”_

_“Oi,” Jaskier protested._

_“In fact,” he continued, “he is so ugly when he cries that he scares most of the monsters away. That’s why I bring him with me. The swords are just for the ones with poor eyesight.”_

_The girl giggled, looked at Jaskier, then giggled again before abruptly running off._

_“I’ll have you know that I’m a wistfully beautiful crier,” he huffed… before smirking, “…_ **_**friend,** _ ** _” and prodded him in the back._

_Geralt turned and gave him a handsome but slightly threatening smile. “Shut up, Jaskier,” he said lightly._

_“I will do that. I will do that now.”_

*

Jaskier smiled to himself, reflecting on it with a fondness he had not experienced at the time. Geralt would be furious to know how darling he found his surprising knack for pacifying children. She wasn’t the only one here charmed by his presence though, all of the residents seemed to like him.

“You know, for villagers who have never met a Witcher before, they’ve all been rather welcoming. More than that even, they seem quite taken with you.”

“I’m solving their problem. That’s why.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes, frustrated with Geralt’s presumption that any kindness directed at him was conditional. He had solved a lot of people’s problems and it didn’t necessarily make them any more pleasant. “Oh, don’t be like that. When you’re not demonstrating aloofness, caustic rudeness or general cantankery, you’re _more_ than tolerable.”

“Thank you. I appreciate the backhanded compliment.”

“Seriously though,” Jaskier said with a quieter, more sincere tone as he slowly curled his fingers against his scalp, “you can be very… likeable.”

Geralt sighed and leaned back against the rim of the bath, staring up at him, knowing the bard was trying his best. “Can I, indeed?” But Jaskier noticed that there was a gentleness to his voice - one that proved a significant contrast to the cutting dryness of most his offerings thus far - and that it was paired with an underlying warmth to the scepticism in his expression.

“You can,” he replied softly, stilling his hands, hypnotised by the candlelit golden eyes beneath him and the water-spiked lashes that framed them, drawing him in and holding him there.

Moments like these were a little troublesome.

Their intimacy, casual both in nature and frequency, meant that Jaskier often struggled to interpret such lingering looks, never sure if it was the comfortable eye-contact of a companion or the flirtatious gaze of a bed partner, and due to Geralt’s preference for relations unblemished by sentiment, his current urge to bend down and kiss him was, to put it mildly, unlikely to be met with enthusiasm. And yet… it would be so easy to do. To close the few inches that separated them and press their warm lips together, to dip his tongue inside his mouth, to taste him…

“Jaskier…” Geralt whispered, slowly and quietly.

“Yes, Geralt…?” he whispered back, dazed and amorous.

“Am I clean now?”

The question, despite its hushed delivery, snapped Jaskier from his trance and he let out a soft breath of laughter at his own sappy romanticism. It was a silly notion anyway. He sighed. “You’ll do,” he said, giving Geralt’s shoulder a firm clap, throwing the towel over his head, and leaning back with his arms folded. “Come on. Out you get.”

He sat and watched as Geralt rose from the bath, stepped onto the fur rug, and roughly dried his face and hair, thin trickles of water running down his hairy chest and into the deep lines of his muscular torso causing his body to shimmer tantalisingly in the firelight.

He was going to avert his eyes out of decency, but just as he was about to, became entranced by the sight of Geralt’s large, flaccid cock swinging heavily between his legs, the meat of it smacking wetly against his thighs as he moved. The motions caused a rogue droplet of bathwater to fall from his pubic hair, and it journeyed down his flushed length, following the ridge of a twisting vein that had dilated from the heat of the bath. Jaskier bit his lip as it reached the gathered pucker of his foreskin, held his breath as it anxiously quivered on the tip, then let out a relieved sigh when it finally, _finally_ , dripped from his cock and onto the pelt beneath. _Gods this man would be the death of him._

Even with his eyes obscured by the towel, Geralt could feel the weight of Jaskier’s stare; it bore into him, desirous and reliably unsubtle. It had only been a few weeks since they had last touched each other -a mutual tug in the mountains following a long and exhausting trek- and before that -two months ago perhaps- a quick fuck in the forest, so it came as somewhat of a surprise that Jaskier was already considering the possibility of another fumble. Of course, a look was a look, and didn’t necessarily mean that he would be pursued tonight, so he draped the towel on the chair by the fire and lay comfortably on his bed.

“Soooo,” Jaskier started, drumming his hands on his thighs. “The coast, eh? Big open space, days from the nearest town…” he paused to examine his nails, “…and not a brothel in sight,” he added as nonchalantly as he could. “I imagine you’re about fit to burst.”

Geralt smiled. He knew where this was going. “Balls don’t burst, Jaskier.”

 _This._ ** _ **This**_** _was his segue._ “They do, actually. I wrote a song about it.”

“Must be true then.”

“Oh, _Horrendously_ so. You see, if a man goes for too long without release, his balls just…” he opened his clenched fists out into spread-fingered palms with an accompanying explosive ‘PWUCCCUSHHH’ noise, puffing his cheeks out.

“My. That sounds awful,” Geralt tutted, playing along.

“Mm-hm. Terrible mess. Can never get it out of the curtains,” Jaskier added frivolously, then stood and began swaggering over to the bed with one hand placed loosely on his hip. “But _you_ , my friend, are in luck. Because it just so _happens_ that I know someone who would be more than willing to prevent this unspeakable fate from befalling you...” He settled at the bottom of the mattress, taking Geralt’s foot into his lap and massaging his toes, “…someone who would be only too happy to ease your…no doubtconsiderable burden.”

Geralt nodded slowly as if intrigued, perhaps even keen. “Sounds promising…” he said, then looked down pensively, “…though I hope they’re less chatty than you.”

Jaskier’s face dropped, he had been so _sure_ that they were on the same page. “Err, right. Well, you see, it was actually…um…me that I was referring t-”

“I know.”

“Oh. I _see_. You were making a _joke_. Sorry, I was unprepared for your rollicking humour.”

Geralt lay back with his hands behind his head, smiling. It was a cruel tease really, but he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t planned to accept his offer. “This is becoming a bit of a habit, Jaskier,” he cautioned lightly.

 _That didn’t sound good._ “A habit? Of course not. It is merely…” Jaskier twirled a hand in the air as if summoning the words, “…an ongoing series of strict one-offs.”

Geralt was impressed. If Jaskier was as clever with his lyrics as he was in re-framing a situation, he would be famous.

“I take it you want something in return,” he said, nudging his heel against the protrusion in Jaskier’s trousers. “Mm?”

Jaskier looked down at his crotch, aware of his own arousal but less so with how obvious it was, the purple fabric of his britches peaking rather obscenely around his erection. No wonder Geralt had been teasing him - but he wouldn’t lose his pride over it. “Ahem, yes well, reciprocation… _would_ be polite.”

Geralt wasn’t too happy with that answer. He didn’t do things out of politeness and he had asked ifJaskier wanted something, not what manners would dictate as reasonable, so he crossed his arms until he was given a better response.

The unfriendly body-language however, implied to Jaskier that his request was too bold, and his confidence wavered as he lowered his bid. “Of course, you could just give my plums a fondle. That would be acceptable too.” But Geralt seemed to grow more impatient. “Orrrr not, not is fine,” he said quickly, “I’ll just…touch myself afterwards. In another room…if you like. On another continent…” he trailed off.

“Do you _want_ something?” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier threw his hands in the air in frustration. Geralt was clearly not going to let him off with anything short of a direct request. “Yes! _Gods_ , Geralt, you infuriating man! Of course I do. I want you to…to…”

“Yes?”

“Take my cock in that… in that big, sword-roughened fist of yours a-and…”

“And?”

“A-and tug me until I-I…”

“Until you…”

“...Spill. Hard. All over these _rather_ lovely hand-woven sheets!”

Geralt’s expression softened. “That’s better. Come here then.”

Jaskier took a deep breath then steadily let it out, dragging his shirt over his head and lying side-by-side with him, the meagre width of the single bed prompting him to nestle in closer. “You’re very mean, you know,” he said, but reached up and twisted a lock of silver hair around his finger in a gesture that substantially lessened the impact of his complaint.

“Mm,” Geralt agreed, smiling at Jaskier’s huffy pout. He let him play a little longer, using the distraction as an opportunity to look at him, at his side-swept fringe, limp from the bath steam, the tips brushing messily but sweetly over one eye; at his dark, silky body hair, gathering at his neck and expanding out across his chest; and at his slim but nourished belly, the soft skin peeking above the high waistband of his trousers; a strangely attractive combination of masculinity and boyishness, one that he always surprised himself by appreciating as much as he did when wide hips and curved breasts were what he was most used to. Of course, there was also his erection: an unmistakable male feature contained in unmistakable lilac britches. He propped himself up on one elbow, slid his palm between Jaskier’s thighs, and squeezed his cock firmly through the fabric.

Jaskier drew in a sharp breath at the touch, but then let it out in a soft sigh. It had been weeks since he had last felt it, but the familiarity of Geralt’s hand was such that it might only have been days, and he fell back easily -too easily- into the pleasurable sensations it provided.

Geralt watched Jaskier blink slowly and heavily over contented blue eyes as he continued to knead him. He was glad to see him a little tamer, especially considering how huffy he had been not five minutes ago, and wondered if a good honest grope might be the solution to his future tantrums. Worth considering.

He reached up and undid the top three buttons of his britches then slipped his hand inside, raking his blunt nails through thick curls of pubic hair before curving his thumb and forefinger around the warm skin of his cock, pushing his erection downward against its determined upward strain.

Jaskier hummed happily, tucking his chin in and looking down past his own chest to observe Geralt’s hand as it disappeared into his trousers. It was hardly the naughtiest thing he had witnessed, but there was something quite thrilling about seeing the bulge of it rummaging around in the material between his legs, something gratifying about the juxtaposition of his hairy, muscled forearm emerging from the delicate, pretty fabric. It was however, a little constrictive, and he was eager to feel both the cool air on his hot cock and the full surface of Geralt’s palm, so he reached down to free the remaining buttons.

Geralt withdrew his hand, waiting patiently as Jaskier carefully undid the fastenings, shuffled awkwardly out of his britches, and lay back and relaxed... then shifted on the pillow… then put an arm behind his head… then let his legs fall loosely open… then gave a wriggle.

“All right. I’m ready,” he announced.

“Oh really? Are you sure? Or would a massage make you more comfortable?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“ _Ooooh._ Would-?”

“-No.”

“Right. Well, In that case, I shan’t ask,” Jaskier chirped.

“Good answer.”

Geralt spat in his hand then grasped Jaskier’s cock, smearing his saliva all the way from the risen root to the rosy pink tip before slipping him through his palm at his usual industrious pace.

Jaskier gave a loud, satisfied moan, his parted lips then transforming into a grin which gave rise to an elated laugh as he let his head tip further back into the pillow. “Oh- _hooo_.That’s the stuff. _Gods_ , I’ve missed this,” he beamed, his cheeks aglow.

One thing Geralt could never fault Jaskier for was his lack of enthusiasm, and it was so cheerful, and so…woefully inappropriate that despite shaking his head in despair, a smile started pulling at the pressed line of his mouth as he continued to quickly jiggle his cock. _What an embarrassing bard._

But Jaskier didn’t see it, too captivated by the buoyant action between his legs. Gradually though and without taking his eyes from himself, he lifted his forearm off the bed and let the back of his hand fall lazily against Geralt’s pectoral muscles. He stroked back and forth over the furry curves of them, slowly and inattentively until he brushed against a nipple, and in locating the nub, began lightly scraping his knuckles over it until it hardened.

The sensation sent a shock of arousal through Geralt and his cock twitched. It was a small gesture and hardly a concentrated effort, but it was the first stimulation he had received in a while and he found himself unwittingly leaning into the touch. He hoped Jaskier hadn’t noticed, or that he was too engrossed in the sight of his own prick to pay it much heed… but needless to say, it wasn’t the case.

Jaskier turned his head, gave him a dopey smile then leaned over and nudged his nose into him, swiping the fleshy tip back and forth over his nipple in an affectionate nuzzle, one that was so gentle, so… tender that it made Geralt’s own motions seem rather coarse, hurried, and charmless by comparison.

To Jaskier’s surprise, he felt Geralt slow his movements to a less frenzied pace, opting for longer, more indulgent strokes. With anyone else it would not have been unusual, but Geralt was rarely inclined to demonstrate such sexual extravagance. It felt wonderful though: the same large callused palm he was used to, and the same steady pressure, but with more languid and thorough pulls.

To reward his efforts, he took Geralt’s nipple in his mouth, giving it a loud, wet suck, and in response, heard a deep little huff of satisfaction above him. Pleased with the reaction, he began to slowly work his jaw on him, dragging his bottom lip up then drawing him in through his lips, eventually skirting a hand down Geralt’s abdomen and between his legs to feel his cock. It had swollen nicely, filling his curled palm with its imposing girth. He gave it a gentle squeeze, then started to tug it in time with the hand on his own.

As they lay stroking each other, Geralt shifted his gaze from Jaskier’s cock to his half-lidded eyes and pink suckling lips then back to his cock. He reached down to his sac and cupped it - an unpractised gesture but one that somehow felt appropriate. The muffled moan he received vibrated through his chest, rattled in his belly, and tingled pleasantly on his skin. He experimented further, pressing his fingertips up into the area behind Jaskier’s balls and giving it a firm rub, the action eliciting an even greater response. Finally, he eased his way down another inch or two, dipped his middle finger between the cheeks of his backside, and brushed lightly over his hole.

“AHHOKAAY…that’s new,” Jaskier gasped, wrenching himself free of Geralt’s tit so abruptly that that a string of spit connecting them snapped and whipped back against his cheek. “

Geralt wasn’t sure what had compelled him to do it, only that he had seen Jaskier opening himself up for him before and that he tended to take extra time to play with it first, giving the impression that it was as much a pleasure as it was a practicality. Though, perhaps he was mistaken.

“Hm,” he frowned thoughtfully, “I thought you might like it. No matter.”

“I-I do…!” Jaskier exclaimed. The fact that Geralt was prepared to touch him there at all was surprising, but the idea that he was doing it specifically to please him exceeded his expectations so completely that he struggled to think of anything further to say.

Geralt however, suddenly rose from the bed, moving as if to walk away, and Jaskier panicked.

“Geralt? W-wait, where are you…? What are you…?” he floundered, then quickly steeled himself. “Geralt, come back here. Come back here this instant.”

But Geralt already had his answer from ‘I do’, and was merely going to retrieve the rose oil from beside the bath, so ignored the restless jabbering from the bed as he bent down and picked it up.

“... _complete_ inability to listen to…” Jaskier continued to blabber. “…and to leave a man _stranded with a horn_ because of an imagined rebuff, when in fact…”

Geralt returned with the glass bottle, raising it in the air and giving it a pointed but playful shake just to show him how unnecessary his ranting was.

Jaskier fell silent.

“...Oh. I see. Well that’s… that’s okay then,” he finally said, awkwardly attempting to ease into agreeableness from a state of high dudgeon while feeling altogether rather foolish.

Geralt smirked, uncorked the bottle with his thumb, letting the stopper fall to the floor, drizzled some liquid into his right palm then placed the half-empty receptacle on the bedside table. He crawled between Jaskier’s legs, using a knee to kick them further apart then with his dry hand, gently slapped the underside of his thigh in a bid to have him raise them.

Jaskier hesitantly drew his legs up and lifted them slightly off the bed. “This isn’t the most dignified position for a man, you know.”

“You could lie on your belly with your arse in the air. Would that be more dignified?”

Jaskier thought about it for a moment. “Meh. Fair point,” he agreed, shamelessly pulling his knees up.

Geralt then sat there, quiet and motionless. He looked down at the tight pink suck of Jaskier’s hole… then at the oil on his hand… then back at his hole.

Jaskier watched curiously as Geralt straightened his back and puffed his chest out, proudly lifting his square jaw in the air and flaring his nostrils with a deep breath through his nose.

“...”

Jaskier waited.

“...”

Jaskier waited, but now narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“...”

Without losing the slightest bit of composure or confidence, Geralt then announced in his deep, monotone voice:

“...Hm. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Jaskier blinked dumbly for several seconds before his mouth melted into a hopelessly endeared smile, his heart swelling. _Well, o_ _f course Geralt had no idea what he was doing, he didn’t normally finger men, and it must have been horribly difficult for him to admit he was unskilled in this regard. Poor love._

“That’s…understandable,” he said, quiet and reassuring. Gingerly, he lifted his arm from under one knee. “Here, let me…” He reached down to take Geralt’s wrist, but then stopped just shy of it. “Can I…?” letting the sentence hang in the air as he awaited permission, not wanting to spook him.

Geralt offered him not his wrist, but his hand, so he took it in his and slowly guided it between his legs, pausing momentarily before gently pressing an oiled fingertip to his entrance. He jerked, thinking he was ready for the sensation of being touched there, but finding it far more intimate than he had expected.

“Cold?” Geralt asked, and Jaskier realised that he was referring to the oil as the reason for his flinching response.

“Cold,” he agreed softly.

“...Now, here. Just like this…” He pressed down on Geralt’s finger and ran it in small circles around his rim to start with, keeping his eyes fixed on curious yellow ones, then began stroking the tip up and down over the ridges.

Geralt observed with intrigue, and when Jaskier took a second finger of his, rapidly and playfully tapping them both against his pucker, he gave a quiet chuckle. “Is that fun, is it?”

“It is,” Jaskier grinned, then released his hand, leaving him to continue unaided.

Geralt mirrored the motions he had seen as best he could. Luckily for him, Jaskier was expressive in his reactions, his hitched breaths and little ‘mmm’s telling him what he liked best. It soon became apparent that a curling upward stroke which ended with a press to his hole yielded the best results, so he kept returning to this while varying his movements.

The rough pad of Geralt’s wet finger rubbing over and around his entrance was nothing short of sublime, and while a little clumsy at first, quickly became more sure and skilled as he went. _A fast learner._

He had been watching the movements of his wrist carefully, but when he lifted his gaze, found Geralt with an expression of deep concentration etched into his features, his eyes shifting back and forth, engrossed but inquisitive. It was rather adorable to see him that way, a bit out of his depth yet determined to succeed, and he wanted to give him something in return.

Geralt’s cock still hovered erect between his legs, so he reached out past his arm and began to caress it. Geralt gave a soft grunt, looked at him for a moment, then reached over and took the bottle from the table and proffered it. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile at the gesture, at Geralt’s silent request for a slippery hand-job. He accepted the oil, and in no particular hurry, poured some into his palm, put the bottle to the side, then wrapped his fingers around him, sliding the length of him through his hand.

Geralt stilled as Jaskier stroked him, staring at the lustful but confident eyes that remained steady and unflinching on his. He appeared to be enjoying himself, appeared… relaxed, so unprompted and without really thinking, Geralt pushed his finger firmly against his entrance until the tip nudged inside. Jaskier’s mouth dropped open as he inhaled audibly through his parted lips then let it out with a groan, the grip of his hand around his cock slackening.

It was encouraging, even if he hadn’t originally intended to do it, so he pushed in further, slowly…ever so slowly, burying his finger in him until the knuckles of his hand brushed the soft cheeks of his bottom. He expected him to say something, make a quip even, it wouldn’t have surprised him, but Jaskier lay there with his mouth hanging open, his eyes barely visible beneath the weight of their lids. _The one time he needed his guidance, and he had absolutely nothing to offer_ , he thought _, typical._ So, in the absence of any useful counsel, he withdrew then dipped back inside, an accidental curl of his finger making Jaskier cry out.

“ _Uhhhn_ , that’s…” but Jaskier couldn’t find a worthy enough adjective for it, nor did he want to encourage him too far in that direction lest he spill in the next thirty seconds and put an end to this gloriously intimate act, so instead just lay there, closing his eyes letting Geralt do as he pleased.

Jaskier looked entirely caught up in it all, lost almost, yet somehow still possessed the presence of mind to continue pulling at his cock, even with his eyes shut - though admittedly with greatly compromised accuracy. Geralt required a bit more stimulation than the clumsy tugs provided alone, so every time Jaskier’s palm slid down his shaft, he gave a gentle counter-thrust.

After a several moments of this, Jaskier vaguely noticed that each roll of Geralt’s hips corresponded with each push of his finger, which corresponded with each of his own moans. Blind to either of their actions and in the haze of pleasure (which firmly dismissed the logic of scale) it became easy to imagine that it was his cock sliding up inside him.

Geralt too was aware of this, not even sure himself if he had done it on purpose. He leaned over and braced himself with an arm framing Jaskier’s shoulder, waiting for him to open his eyes.

Jaskier could sense the looming presence, and gradually lifted his eyelids to find Geralt above him, glancing over his lips and nose and cheeks, but steadying his gaze when their eyes finally met.

“Do you want to fuck?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier could feel his heart beat a little faster. They had done it enough times, but it was almost always initiated by himself and even when it wasn’t, was never requested verbally. He nodded gently, and despite the stupidity and needlessness of his question, asked: “Doyou?”

“Mm,” Geralt nodded sharply.

The answer was brief and simple, yet that single admission was somehow one of the most delightful things Jaskier had ever heard.

Geralt removed his finger then took his slicked cock out of Jaskier’s hand and lowered himself closer to the mattress, bringing the tip to his entrance. Instead of immediately taking him though, he decided to demonstrate what he had learned tonight, sliding his cock against his hole in the same motions that he had with his finger: circling, stroking and -on a sudden and teasing whim- giving a few quick taps that made Jaskier break out into a grin.

“Do that again.”

“No. Lie back,” he smirked, knowing he should be careful about starting any nonsense like that.

Jaskier smiled and lay back, reaching one hand up to hold onto the biceps of the arm bracketing his shoulder, knowing only too well the all-consuming intensity of what was to follow. He watched Geralt move in a little closer, re-align his cock, and finally…push…

They both let out a groan as Geralt slowly sank into him: one deep and pleasured, the other loud and slightly fraught.

The sound Jaskier made and the face he pulled whenever he was first penetrated always made Geralt’s cock strain, an effect of the guilty pleasure he took in finding him so overcome, so… devastated by it. He felt trimmed nails dig fiercely into his arm though and stopped half way, letting Jaskier adjust. There would be opportunity enough to burrow his way in later.

It took a few moments, but Jaskier finally gave a shaky breath through the purse of his lips, then with an upward pull of his eyebrows, smiled weakly. “I’m never ready for that.”

“Are you ready now?”

“Nearly.” Jaskier reached both his hands up beneath the hair hanging in front of Geralt’s face and held onto the back of his neck, stroking his thumbs over his jaw. “Now I am.”

Geralt pressed his lips together in mild self-recrimination. He shouldn’t have asked, it served only to open up a gateway for increasingly specific and indulgent requests.

Keeping his eyes on his, he slowly withdrew, watching the expression on Jaskier’s face change as he pushed back in, his own moan eclipsed by a shamelessly loud and deeply pleasured one from Jaskier that made the blood rush to his cock. _Fuck, he sounded good._

After three more achingly slow thrusts, Jaskier finally felt a gentle rhythm form, momentum gradually building as Geralt rolled up into him in a wave-like motion, one that rippled through his wide chest and muscled abdomen before cresting at his hips with the smooth insertion of his cock. _Gods, It was decadent being fucked like that._ And the way Geralt looked above him: the sweat on his brow, the damp hair from his bath, the colour in his cheeks. He wanted him closer, wanted to feel him _…_

Jaskier’s tight warmth was as welcome as always and Geralt couldn’t deny that this slower pace felt good. It also had the added effect of allowing a more acute awareness of him, of every twitch and flutter of his muscles around his cock, of every catch in his breath and change in his heartbeat…

It appeared however, that Jaskier’s hands around the back of his neck was not enough for his bard, as he became more and more insistent on dragging him downward. It was proving an awkward strain to resist it, to keep himself braced on the straight arms that held them apart. He was obviously stronger though, and after a few moments of futile pulling and nail-scraping, Jaskier seemed to realise that he would not win this fight. There was a somewhat fiendish satisfaction in watching this realisation, but it was soon cut short when, to his disbelief, Jaskier abandoned the idea of pulling him down and began arching his back off the bed in an attempt to reach up to him instead.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jaskier,” he breathed, exasperated but not unfriendly.

“Come on,” Jaskier puffed, his mouth open but wide with cheer, “it’s nice down here. You’ll like it.”

Geralt gave a ‘tsk’ under his breath, but relented nevertheless.

He slipped his arm beneath Jaskier’s shoulders, cradling his neck on his forearm, and gripped his thigh tightly with the other hand, pressing it into his own waist and inspiring Jaskier to bring the other up so they were both wrapped around his lower back. Like this, there was little space between them, their bodies curled around each other, close and compact.

“Good, see?”

Geralt thought it was rhetorical but Jaskier dug his heel into him and repeated “ _see?_ ” He gave a small thrust to assess the new position and did indeed find it comfortable, substantially better in fact, but was reluctant to admit it.

“It’s…fine.”

It was humorously understated, but before Jaskier could revel in the glory of being right, Geralt began moving inside him again, still at the same pace but, restricted by the caging of their bodies, abandoned fluid undulation in favour of straighter and deeper thrusts that skewered him all the way to up to his belly.

“Fuck,” he whined, pulling his eyebrows together and taking his hands from Geralt’s shoulders to slip them up under his arms and hold onto his back.

The feebler sounds of pleasure beneath him and the feeling of being sheathed to the root ignited a familiar carnal instinct in Geralt, something he was used to from their previous nights together, one that prompted more desperate urges and a need for release.

He began propelling himself forward with jolting snaps of his hips, each one punctuated with a grunt and a responding choked ‘Uhn’ from Jaskier, his dark blue eyes screwing tightly shut. He dug his fingertips deeper into his thigh and with the other hand, reached up behind him to take a fistful of short hair, knuckles tight to his scalp, and continued to fuck with an effort that made his breaths loud and laboured.

Jaskier gripped him tighter and urged him quicker by trying, as best he could, to push down on his cock.

The movement was slight, but Geralt understood and began to increase the pace, their bodies jerking quickly. His head fell further forward as he bucked into him until they were so close that their noses started to bump haphazardly against each other. It happened repeatedly, until on one thrust… their lips brushed together. They were plumper than they looked and softer than he imagined, and the sensation of them was so unexpectedly arousing, that without stopping to think, he dipped down and pressed his mouth to Jaskier’s in a firm kiss.

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open and he froze. It took several seconds for it to sink in, several seconds with a no doubt idiotic expression on his face, but as soon as it did, he reached up and fiercely grabbed Geralt’s cheeks, hauling him down and crushing their lips together, plunging his tongue inside him and swirling it around Geralt’s, tasting ale and copper in his mouth.

Geralt began to thrust quicker before suddenly wrenching their lips apart.

“I’m going to-”

“-Ah- Me too,” Jaskier gasped, snaking a hand between them and pulling wildly on his cock, hoping they might finish together, might, might-

He came with a groan, keeping his eyes on the determined yellow ones above him as his release splashed across his stomach. Geralt’s face reddened furiously, his jaw jutting out as he bared his teeth, and barely a split-second later Jaskier felt the heat, the force, and the quantity of his spill lashing against his insides.

Geralt continued to thrust, albeit slowly, depositing each squirt as deep as he could. Jaskier held onto him weakly, taking it all, seeing him through it until eventually, Geralt stilled, panting, his breath hot against his lips.

They remained there for only a few more seconds before Geralt leaned back and pulled his cock out, a little dribble of semen leaking from Jaskier’s well-fucked hole. Hm. He was quite pleased with that sight. He lay back on the mattress breathing hard, one leg hanging off the edge, the single bed unable to accommodate himself as well as Jaskier’s now sprawled body.

Jaskier gave a long satisfied sigh, letting the back of his arm fall dead against Geralt’s sweaty chest. “Gosh, that was good,” he puffed, before a smile started to spread across his face.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. “What are you grinning at?”

Jaskier turned his head on the pillow. “Blame it on the throes of passion if you wish, but _you_ sir, just kissed me,” he said, rapping his knuckles against Geralt’s chest.

Geralt didn't have an adequate explanation for that so he chose to downplay it. “I just fucked the life out of you, and _that’s_ your concern?”

“Well, you’ve never done that before.”

“Well, I’ve never stuck my finger up your arsehole before either, it doesn’t mean I’m going to marry you.”

Jaskier tried desperately to hold back his laughter at the forthrightness of it, but failed, chortling with a splutter.

“What?”

“Not a thing. I just wouldn’t recommend preceding a proposal with it, that’s all.”

“Hm. They might get a shock,” Geralt admitted, a small smile creeping onto his lips.

Jaskier gave another chuckle before catching sight of the doll on the table staring at him. He reached over to it, but before he could get there Geralt snatched it up.

“No,” he said firmly, then in a surprisingly childish gesture, lay it on its back and pulled a cloth up to its twiggy little neck. “He’s going to sleep. As am I. As are you. In that bed. Right over there.” Geralt pointed to the second single bed across from the small table that separated them.

“But I’m comfortable,” Jaskier pouted.

“Impossible.”

“I _am_.”

“I’m not.”

“All right, fine.” Jaskier sat up, he knew the rules, if there was a second bed, they didn’t share, no matter what they had gotten up to together. “In _that_ case, Geralt of Rivia, I do bequeath to you…” he said, standing up, giving a flourished bow, and gesturing towards the semen on the sheets that had dribbled out of him. “…my damp patch.”

“ _Jaskier,_ ” Geralt winced.

“What? _You_ put it there. _You_ can lie in it. Ahem, ‘like a distressed babe, wallowing in its own filth,’ he declared.

Geralt should have known Jaskier would hold that against him. He sighed. “Fine.”

Jaskier grinned as he meandered over to his own bed, flopping down on it. He leaned over to blow out the candle, but caught Geralt looking at him and blew him a kiss instead.

"Careful, Bard," he warned, but Jaskier could hear the amusement in his tone.

He smiled, extinguished the flame then curled up and stared out of the window, his eyes gradually fluttering closed as he fell asleep to the sound of the waves crashing in the distance.

*

Jaskier swung his lute case over his shoulder and pulled himself up onto Roach’s saddle, positioning himself behind Geralt and looking out to sea. Geralt had quickly taken care of the remaining skoffins this morning, quicker than Jaskier had expected, having left at dawn without waking him and returning midday to make preparations for their journey onward. It was a shame that they had to leave so soon.

“Can’t we stay a few more days?” he asked.

“We’ve made our coin.”

“Well, yes but I-” he began, but stopped himself. They were ready to go, and an argument at this point would achieve nothing. “Never mind. I’m just being foolish,” he finished, awaiting Geralt’s ‘that’s nothing new’ response.

But Geralt didn’t. It was rare for Jaskier not to contest a decision or speak his mind to the fullest extent that language would allow, and he knew that he had grown fond of the place during their short stay. He sighed.

“There will be other opportunities,” he suggested instead, in an attempt to cheer him up. It had the intended effect, earning him a small smile.

“Geralt!” came a tiny, high-pitched voice, “Geralt, wait!”

Jaskier turned around to find the little girl from yesterday struggling through the mud to reach them, running as fast as her short, gangly legs would carry her, her movements harboured further by her determination to keep something hidden behind her back.

“Are you leaving, Geralt?” she asked, and Jaskier noted that she knew his name, perhaps they had met again since yesterday.

“I’m afraid so.”

“That’s sad,” she said with a rather dreadful little frown, but then quickly perked up.

“I made you another doll.”

Bringing her hands around to the front of her dress, she held up the stick-doll on her tiptoes and Geralt leaned down to take it.

“It’s a bard,” she said proudly.

He appraised it and smiled. Brown horsehair, blue shell eyes, a slightly garish purple outfit, and a small wooden spoon as lute. “ _I_ think it’s a very _particular_ bard.”

She looked at Jaskier then back at Geralt. “Well, you didn’t look as happy this morning on your own, and I thought maybe your doll wasn’t either, so I made another one to, you know, sing him lullabies and stop him from getting lonely.”

Geralt took a deep breath. _Oh, Jaskier was going to have a whale of a time with this one. He would never hear the end of it_.

“I’m sure he’ll keep him entertained,” he told the girl, glancing behind to find Jaskier pressing his lips tightly together, struggling to contain his glee.

“Is it good?” she asked shyly, shuffling nervously on her feet.

Geralt turned to her and offered a gentle smile. “It’s perfect.”

She blushed, hanging her head to hide her grin, then turned heel and ran away as quickly as always.

“Ohhhh, Geralt,” Jaskier laughed. “Geralt, Geralt, Geralt,” he tutted happily, “not a day will go by when I don’t remind you of this.”

“I’m aware.”

Jaskier peered down to watch black-gloved hands turn the doll. “It's good, isn't it? It reflects my exceptional flare and style beautifully.”

“And look. It even captures your patented expression of dim vacancy.”

“Yes, yes.” Jaskier gave him a light shove and reached out to take it.

“Off,” Geralt warned, smacking his hand away and opening his pack. “I’m putting him where he belongs. Irritating his companion until he’s throttled.” He placed it in the bag with the other doll before sobering, “It’s two days to the nearest town. We should go,” and clicked his tongue to rouse Roach.

Jaskier held onto Geralt’s waist as he led them out of the village, pressing himself tightly against his back and resting his chin on his shoulder like a puppy. “I could sing you a lullaby if you like,” he whispered.

“I could let you walk if you like,” Geralt smiled.

Jaskier gave a soft laugh.

_This was a good place for them, and perhaps they would return someday..._

*

**Author's Note:**

> So that's that. Hope I didn't swamp you with *too* much dialogue, I just find it so much fun to write. XD Thank you for bearing with me.
> 
> I like to imagine all the awkward ways Jaskier tries to instigate sex with Geralt, not knowing if he's in the mood or not. XD "Sooooo...nice day for a fuck wouldn't you say? Not that I'm suggesting that *we* fuck of course, just that the weather conditions are favourable for copulation, should copulation be, you know, your 'thing'..." And Geralt pretends to have no idea what he's talking about while secretly laughing his tits off.
> 
> And Geralt's good with kids. Who knew? 
> 
> I do wonder if they'll ever get their coastal break. Maybe it'll be like their Brokeback Mountain equivalent or something. XD
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. :)


End file.
